


Epithelium

by corvidinvasion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, FE3H Kinkmeme, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidinvasion/pseuds/corvidinvasion
Summary: "Let's not play games.“ Hubert's fingers move to his, but he does not squeeze―he holds. "Not tonight.“Ferdinand is aware of Hubert's observant nature. Maybe more than most people, despite both their reputations, he knows this: Hubert does not just take information he could use to hurt his enemies, he keenly watches and assimilates all that comes to his attention, every detail. Though it is also true that he rarely acts on those observations, merely uses them to gain something, or to hold them over someone to reduce them to a bundle of unease.He must find something of greater weight in the way Ferdinand gives himself today then, he realises. It makes his throat tighten.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 140





	Epithelium

**Author's Note:**

> Another oneshot I wrote for the FE3H kinkmeme. This prompt was about Ferdinand telling Hubert about how he was molested as a child, so heed the warnings. There's nothing too graphic in this story nor is the smut the focus, but you can see that from the tags!

"You are trembling.“

Ferdinand hears himself laugh as if someone else, someone strange, is dwelling inside of him to make the noise.

"Well, I hope you can forgive me,“ Ferdinand's voice says. "It is unlike me to openly show weakness, but holding back my vigour did not seem like a viable approach today. It is not every day that I have to converse and dance with guests of such importance, is it? But, I can admit it took quite the toll on my body.“

Was it always so bothersome to unfasten his cravat? He cannot remember. 

Someone speaks again, and Ferdinand hums in response as he fumbles with the buttons of his vest. There is something odd about his hands. It reminds him of when he watched his old educator instruct him how to handle a delicate tea cup for the first time. 

"Cease this.“

His heartbeat leaps into his throat as his eyes land on Hubert's face, just a few inches away from his. 

"Hubert! Must you always startle me so?“ 

Ferdinand notes his deep scowl―he does not seem merely angry but also thoughtful. When Hubert takes Ferdinand's wrist in his hand, he forces himself to not flinch. 

"Are you all right?“ he asks. 

"Of course I am“, Ferdinand says. "Why would I not be?“

Hubert's eyes flick over his face and Ferdinand follows his gaze down, toward where his fingers still hold Ferdinand's wrist. Both are still wearing gloves, but Ferdinand can feel the sharp shape of Hubert's fingers dig into his skin. It does not feel intrusive now; he rather feels like a softened candle that is held together by a stick of metal. 

"That is not a question I can answer.“ Hubert's voice seems somehow nearer, though he has not moved closer. "Why don't you tell me?“

Ferdinand breathes out a laugh. 

"I see you have made up your mind about this. I cannot possibly be well according to you! But I already told you: I merely wore myself out today.“

"Let's not play games.“ Hubert's fingers move to his, but he does not squeeze―he holds. "Not tonight.“

Ferdinand is aware of Hubert's observant nature. Maybe more than most people, despite both their reputations, he knows this: Hubert does not just take information he could use to hurt his enemies, he keenly watches and assimilates all that comes to his attention, every detail. Though it is also true that he rarely acts on those observations, merely uses them to gain something, or to hold them over someone to reduce them to a bundle of unease. 

He must find something of greater weight in the way Ferdinand gives himself today then, he realises. It makes his throat tighten. 

"Do you ever have thoughts about the past? Your childhood?“ As soon as Ferdinand asks this he feels foolish, and when there eyes meet, there is at once something alert and cautious in Hubert's expression. Something urges Ferdinand to press on regardless. "There are days―or moments that... They call back memories of times long gone. As if the years that passed do not matter at all, how clearly and vividly I can recall how I felt back then. Does this happen to you at all?“

"Are these unpleasant memories? They torment you, do they not?“

Of course he would know. Ferdinand slips his hand from out of Hubert's grasp and continues to open his vest. 

"It matters not,“ he says. "But it does answer your question. I apologise if my behaviour offended you―“

"Ferdinand.“

"―but I wish to go to bed now. I am tired.“

"Sit down, please.“

Ferdinand turns his back to Hubert and shrugs off his vest. He does not know what he had expected. Maybe his foolish optimism had told him Hubert would speak to him of his childhood, to finally allow Ferdinand to know him in a way he never had. And perhaps he could tell him something in return. Be blunt about it. 

It was not yet too late, he realises. Hubert still has not moved behind him. 

"Why?“ Another redundant question Ferdinand cannot help asking. 

"I insist.“

He does not sit down, but turns around. Hubert wears still most of his uniform and does not look like he is planning on changing that anytime soon. Ferdinand remembers now that they are in Hubert's chambers, that he had tried to undress himself here without even thinking. Heat rises to his face. 

"I see you're slowly regaining awareness of the current situation,“ Hubert says. Not mocking, not kind. "And while I would, under normal circumstances, not hold you back from baring yourself to me, one of us has to take the given facts into consideration: you have never before come into my chambers to strip yourself with shaking hands. Without saying so much as a word, I will add.“

The prickly warmth extends to Ferdinand's neck and ears at that. He tries to think of something to say, anything―but Hubert is quicker. 

"Now, why don't you speak your mind freely? It is something you do best, after all. And I'll indulge you.“

"Speak my mind?“ Ferdinand echoes. "There are no thoughts on the matter I have to share with you. No epiphany I could lay out to you. I know you do not care to reminisce about matters that are no longer relevant to the present days.“

There is an ache in his chest and he prays it does not show on his face. 

"Tell me,“ Hubert says. 

"I am not sure how,“ Ferdinand admits. "Where were I to begin? Am I to tell you straight from the shoulder? Fine! I will do it, so I can face your disgust head-on: when I was a young boy, I was touched by a man.“

When Ferdinand had thought about letting another person listen to those words, this admission, he had never imagined it quite like that. There is rage, like a storm trapped in bottle, shame flooding over him, and he can barely stand to move his body as it reminds him of not just what once was, but who he still is.  
And then there is Hubert, who stares right back at him. It is not with open disgust, but there is a battle to be fought. 

Whatever it is he wants to say as he opens his mouth, Ferdinand does not want to hear it. "When my father found me–being held and caressed and kissed in the lap of this man―I knew that I would be punished. I did not yet understand what for, but I understood that I was dirty and foul for letting this man touch me well enough. I understood the whip lashes against my back: they meant that I did something wicked, and that I had to repent.“

Hubert's shoulders are stiff, his brow creased, and it scares him. It scares him to know that those words had an effect on him, and that the manner in which Ferdinand tells him never mattered. He should not have stayed quiet about this for so long. It was not right of him to let Hubert choose him but not let him know the entire truth of him, of his body. 

"Ferdinand―“

"Hold, I am not finished.“ 

Ferdinand begins to unbutton his shirt. They have not bared themselves before each other completely yet, but not much is left of their bodies the other had not seen and touched. Pleasure, Ferdinand had found out, is something to give and receive in innumerable ways. Hubert had not asked him to have him in a traditional sense―or as traditional as two men could be together. For that, Ferdinand is glad. The peak of their shared lust is something they treat as incidental, something to not think about too much. 

But now, all of what they had done together is as clear as day in Ferdinand's mind. And it forces his hand. 

So he turns to reveal his back. "I am not the unblemished man I let you believe I am.“ 

Hubert does not touch him, nor does he ask: "Can you still feel them? When the weather is bad or perhaps when you wake up from a slumber that made you remember something you have never forgotten?“

"I do not need to see this,“ is what he says as he comes closer. "But I'm grateful for your trust in me.“

"This never was about trust.“

"No? Very well, then you should have no objection to my next request: tell me that bastard's name.“

When Hubert steps around him, he thinks about the boy Hubert was when the deep slashes on Ferdinand's back had not closed yet. It is a stark contrast to the authority Hubert exudes with just a curl of his lips or twist of his hand. The first time he had seen him, Ferdinand had thought he looked funny, with his lanky body, hair that did not suit his face and his awkward attempt at looking all mature and stern. 

"Ah.“ The look Hubert gives him is curious. "I wonder what made you smile so suddenly.“

There is nothing amusing about Hubert now and Ferdinand thinks: I adore you. 

"It is of no consequence.“

"Your smile...or his name?“

"Both.“

"The world Her Majesty created,“ Hubert begins, "has neither want nor place for wretched worms like him. I will gladly plunge my knife into his guts to watch him bleed dry.“

One of Hubert's many skills is speaking of heinous, gruesome acts with the most impartial of voices, but Ferdinand had honed one skill in turn: to figure when his choice of words was just another way of reining back his passion.  
Suddenly, he feels light. Too light, in truth. As if someone had hollowed him out and put him on the top of a pole, high up on of the towers of Enbarr. 

§You already did,“ Ferdinand breathes. 

It should not surprise Hubert, he thinks, but it does. Ferdinand can see him think before he speaks again. "Metaphorically?“

"No.“

"Who was it?“ 

Ferdinand clings to the edge of Hubert's voice; it draws something out of him. Something entwined with his guts. 

"The late Count Vestra.“

If Ferdinand had surprised Hubert before, these words do something else entirely: it twists his face into something he cannot recognise for one breathless moment. 

He should have told him weeks ago. Who does he think he is, to reveal this kind of new horror to Hubert after they touched so intimately? Ferdinand sinks down on the stool close to him, fighting against the urge to pull at his own hair. 

"I am sorry,“ he says, his gaze on Hubert's legs. 

"Quiet! I will not have you apologise for this.“

With each week that had passed since the war, they had grown closer; barely any doubts had accompanied the strides they had taken toward each other. To know his wants is easy for Ferdinand when it comes to Hubert. But, perhaps, they had both too easily, too readily discarded their old lives, like ripping off stitches of wounds that had not healed yet.  
And now he has to pay the price. 

"I do not want your forgiveness, Hubert.“ No, that's a thought Ferdinand rejects with his entire being. "But you ought to know that I feel dreadful for keeping this from you.“

"I said, be quiet.“ He watches Hubert come closer, but he does not look up. "I will not lie to you...I do wish you had told me sooner. But I will not let you misunderstand the situation, either.“

"What is there to mis―“

"Will you let me speak for once? I killed that maggot years ago and I would do it again, now more gladly than before. Today, you revealed nothing new to me about either yourself or him. He is not worth the horse shit under your boots, and you...“ He puts his hand on the side of Ferdinand's head. "You proved yet again that you're brave and truthful.“

Ferdinand swallows around the lump in his throat as Hubert's fingers caress him. 

"You do not understand,“ he says. "I swore to myself that day that I could be someone else, someone better. I set out to prove to everyone around me―to the entire world―that I could be as upright and pure as any other noble. I understand now that I was just a weak boy. And maybe I still am.“

"I have watched you for years; not once have I seen you weak.“

"Because I did not let you or anyone else see me for who I truly am!“

"Do you truly believe that's what you did? That you had me fooled?"

When Ferdinand looks up, he's met with a stern expression. It is so far from their usual conversations they have in private, that he feels a fresh pang of guilt. Hubert is clearly out of his element and yet Ferdinand just sits here, letting Hubert try to console him. 

"I suppose it does not matter what I believe,“ he says then. „And I am tired.“

"You can stay here.“

A beat of silence. 

"Why?“

"It seems logical to extent your stay until the morning...now that you're already here.“

Hubert is rather discreet about their deepened bond, careful to not let the palace staff or most of the other residents and guests know the nature of their relationship if it is avoidable. For that reason, he rarely meets with Ferdinand on a whim so late at night. What is more: he greatly prefers to meet at Ferdinand's chambers. 

He nearly tells Hubert that he does not need to be comforted, how offensive the very thought is to him―but Hubert is not a man for pity, and the thought of Ferdinand's own cold bed makes him shudder. 

"If it means no trouble for you.“

"I wouldn't have made the offer if it were.“

The strangeness of the situation is not any less apparent as they retire to Hubert's bed.  
Ferdinand lies on his back, his gaze on the ceiling when Hubert takes no time to lean over him. It is exactly and nothing at all like the first time they were like this; it is perhaps like entering a room through a door he had never used before.

"I want to taste you," Hubert says, his tone soft. 

The shadows on Hubert's face make him seem like something sculpted from wax. And so Ferdinand extents his hand to touch his face, the thin skin stretched over sharp bones.  
He marvels at how simple it is to accept Hubert's weight on him, to open his lips and let himself get tasted, his tongue heavy on his. 

Soon Hubert's kisses move from his mouth to his jaw, his chin and then his neck, leaving wet and teased skin behind. There is a desire blooming in Ferdinand's chest now, to be marked more deeply, more permanently–and as if Hubert had read his mind, he sinks his teeth in. His breath hitches. Hubert is not more gentle than usual, and somehow that thought alone make his eyes burn.

Ferdinand leans his head back and strokes the hair from Hubert's forehead as the feeling of his lips and teeth shoot lightning through his body. More than lightning―it feels like―

Fingers press to his rips, hot and unyielding. It is not a lover's touch; it's a demand. 

"Your heart,“ Hubert rasps. "I can feel it leap against my palm.“

How oddly fitting, Ferdinand thinks. For one moment there is the thought of his heart breaking through his ribcage into Hubert's hand; a frightened fawn fleeing from an intruder. 

"It is all right," Ferdinand assures. "I do want this."

"I must ask you one more thing regardless,“ Hubert says, hand still on Ferdinand's chest. "What was the cause for your mind to drift so far back?“

"The words someone I conversed today with used. It was mere banter―nothing I should or would take offence to, yet it was eerily close to what was said to me all those years ago. He said, 'A Prime Minister who does not know how the meaning of servitude is as useless as a sword with a mind of its own.'“

"What utter nonsense.“

"You disagree?“

"Naturally.“ Hubert moves his hand to Ferdinand's upper arm, squeezing it as if to test his the strength there. "A blade does have a mind of its own. You cannot will it to become dull, nor can you will it to not cut you if you handle it without grace. Only a fool would think the weapon has not an agenda of their own; to kill and maim.“

Unexpectedly, this makes Ferdinand laugh. An effect Hubert had hope for, judging by his smile. 

"Your mind has to align with its agenda,“ Hubert adds, suddenly earnest. 

Ah. 

Ferdinand can still feel his smile stretching his face, wondering if Hubert can sense how fervently he feels for him. The pull is too strong to resist, and Ferdinand doesn't―he grasps Hubert's shoulders and puts his mouth on his neck to feel the pulse beneath. 

"Wait,“ Hubert gasps. Ferdinand has half a mind not to let him speak, to just sink further into the mattress, to let Hubert smother him between his body and the bed― "Let me see you.“

"You already saw, did you not?“

"No―I wasn't referring to your scars.“ As Hubert sits back on his knees, he takes he hem of Ferdinand's waistband, gently but with a sure hand. "They are what they are, but I put no meaning on their existence.“ 

At this, he can feel a blush rushing to his cheeks. He defeats the urge to press the back of his hand to his face―it is foolish, he knows; they have felt what they have not yet seen underneath their clothes before, after all. "If that is what you want.“

"It is. It has been for a very long time.“

It is a revelation, Ferdinand thinks, as he watches Hubert lick his lips before pulling his pants down, with a look he cannot name.  
Ferdinand is sure he must be flushed all over by now. 

"Beautiful,“ Hubert says, like stating an easy truth. 

He asks not for permission before he strokes Ferdinand's thighs and he is glad for it. Having to explain to Hubert why he does not want his pity, his hesitation or his sorrow would be, or so he imagines, like speaking against the tight stranglehold of a snake. 

When Hubert puts his lips and tongue right above his own hand, between his thigh and hip bone, Ferdinand jolts. 

"That tickles!“

"Does it?“ Hubert looks up to him, a devilish grin on his face. He bites him where he kissed him.

It makes his legs draw up and close before he can help it. „Hubert!“

The sound of his name does nothing to stop him, and neither does Ferdinand want him to. A moan is on his lips as Hubert caresses his hip and thighs with sharp, sucking kisses, his fingers digging into his flesh, never quite touching his member. 

There is no use in trying to suppress the warm blood flow downward. Hubert's hair grazes him there, and at that Ferdinand makes a truly pitiful sound. And even though Hubert does not mock him for it, the complacency pores out of him unhindered. 

It is hard to think of anything at all when they lock eyes once more. 

"I always enjoyed this particular weakness of yours,“ Hubert says, the excessive kindness in his voice a contrast to his choice of words. "How easily you are riled up.“

"Ah well...“ His thoughts becomes more muddled with every touch, kiss and lick Hubert bestows upon his body, while part of his mind wants to reject this kind of pleasure with all his might. It is dizzying. "And I do enjoy how poorly you fare at keeping your hands to yourself for even a minute when we are like this.“ 

"Heh, my hands are precisely where I want them to be.“

Ferdinand breathes out a laugh. "I wondered...“

"Yes?“ Hubert asks.

"Does it truly not bother you?“ It is not a well-placed question. He can see it in the crease on Hubert's forehead, feel it in the strain of his hands. 

"Fine, then. If you do need to hear it clearly, I'll say it: the only sentiment that, at this moment, runs deeper than my loathing for the repellent creature that sired me is my desire to eat you up.“

Ferdinand forgets how to breathe for a moment, and in the next his sight blurs when Hubert―finally―grasps between his legs. 

"Do not presume you can entice me,“ he says, accentuating his words with a sudden stroke over Ferdinand's tip, "to touch you in a manner I wouldn't want to.“

"Hubert―“

"Now, let me make this good for you.“

At first, Hubert's touch is slow. Not slight enough for room to gather his wits–no. There is practice and intent in his tugging and rubbing; it is a merciless kind of bliss that all too quickly becomes a hard ride down a narrowing trail.

Hubert kneels over him, watching him closely as his movements get slicker. Blindly, Ferdinand reaches for him, the need to feel more of his skin on his almost violent in its intensity as he tries to kiss him–

"No, I wish to hear the sweet noises you make fully," Hubert says with delight.

Ferdinand sobs. And it feels like forever and no time at all when his world becomes a swirl of colours, bright and hot. Then, his mind is tipping out of the saddle―and he cannot tell where it lands.

"By the Goddess,“ Ferdinand pants. He must have been loud, if he goes by the raw feeling in his throat. 

Their bodies are barely touching when Hubert lies beside him. 

Ferdinand almost turns on his side, but then thinks better of it as he becomes increasingly aware of the wet spot on his stomach. It is a strange thing, to let those pale green eyes meet his like this. The shade and shape had been passed down on Hubert by his father, and there is only one aspect that makes them different: they do not look through him. 

"Ferdinand.“

"What is it?“

"At no time of our acquaintance would I have blamed you, nor would I ever have thought lesser of you for it.“

He thinks of their academy days, when they both could not have been more eager to call attention to the other's flaws.

Ferdinand takes Hubert's hand and puts it over his heart. 

"I believe you.“


End file.
